


morning

by kinpika



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics)
Genre: F/M, Pointless fluff, bucky is so in love with natasha bye, preferably comic universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 01:32:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19097011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinpika/pseuds/kinpika
Summary: he wasn't ever going to win (not like he wanted to, anyway)





	morning

**Author's Note:**

> i responded to something on tumblr and finally decided to post it here

For his part, Bucky had to acknowledge that he had phenomenal self control. And that wasn’t an attempt at trying to be humble, either. Whether it was a layover effect from the last sixty years or so, or even the lifetime before that, he knew he _had_ it.

Until he was in Natasha’s immediate vicinity.

Not that he wanted to be the kind to pant after her like some of the people in the internet did, no sir, not him. That was all kinds things he didn’t want to be, and especially not towards her (deep-seated kind of thoughts, pertaining to just how Natasha was perceived in her time, and not wanting to be that kind of person, at all, ever). But as Bucky digresses, rolling such thoughts and beliefs over in his head, he has to admit he had stopped buttering the toast exactly seventy-three seconds ago.

Just them in the Tower for the day, upper levels, where the private kitchen area was. Far smaller than the one in the lower decks, and Bucky did not consider that it lessened the amount of air. That would have been ridiculous, even if he was acutely aware of how his breathing became just a fraction more shallow.

Natasha was simply Natasha. Remarkably relaxed clothing for the day, hair pulled back off her face with a headband that Bucky recognised — one of the first things he had bought her, years before, when he’d caught her pushing her fringe out of her eyes just a little too much. They were off call, or as off call as the both of them could be. 

So Bucky stands still, focusing on buttering as the toast began to go cold. She’s practically dancing out the corners of his eyes, with the way she’s arranging their breakfast. Granted, she was limited to only actually serving cereal and milk, kept far from any appliances. So she pours the orange juice and balances plates on her arms and continues to practically skip out into the lounge—

Ah, he thought he recognised that shirt. It’s one of his old ones, looser hem, soft from too many washes. Caught in the waistband of her pants, giving him a rather free view of her strutting away. Bucky also recognised that particular set of stretchy pants. He was quite sure he had spent yesterday afternoon carefully rolling them down Natasha’s legs.

She’s talking, voice controlled and airy, light, about the weather and what Steve was up to and if they were still on for dinner. Bucky shrugs, because it wasn’t like he ever had any other plans, and the toaster popped to help fill the spaces. Whatever you want, is what he says (and she smiles in that way of hers, that’s all warm and promising and _right there_ ). There’s a little niggling thought, that there was far too much food for the both of them, until he’s taking the rest of the plates down. 

Bucky turns, once he’s set everything down on the coffee table. Doesn’t think about how it wasn’t often he got to eat like this, and that the jam was missing. “Hey, where’s the—”

It’s like punch to his gut. Self control selfcontrol _self con_ ** _TROL_** _._ Natasha had to know. This was on purpose. And he was eating it up, completely. Leaning over the counter, fingers running over the countertop, flicking through screens. One hand midair, holding the jar of said jam in the air. Legs crossed at the ankle, and moving her hips just slightly back and forth in time with music. Distracted, open. 

Like a hand squeezing his chest, choking him up a little, Bucky loved how vulnerable she was. Comfortable around him like this. Takes the few steps to cross the kitchen, to slide a hand along the small of her back, not even attempting to free the shirt from her pants. Barely up her back, a feather light touch. Bucky doesn’t react to the lack of bra, or even how he knows damn well that the hairs on Natasha’s arms were standing up. Only when he’s at her ear, leaning over her, hand on the curve of her ass, does her press in that fraction closer, fingers along the seam of her pants.

“You always were a sore loser, James,” she says, tone deceptively calm. Always so controlled, always so focused.

Who was Bucky kidding? Natasha had more self control in his little finger, than he would ever have, several lifetimes over even. “I never have a chance to win against you, anyway, Natalia.” 


End file.
